


he ain't heavy

by deniigiq



Series: no burden is he to bear [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Asthma, Carrying, M/M, Multi, but then blowjobs, mission gone slightly sideways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 03:42:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13778922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/pseuds/deniigiq
Summary: Sam bounced Steve a little higher up so that he was supporting most of his own weight and then stomped on the rim of the shield so it snapped up off the ground into his hand. The moment it hit his hand, he felt like he had everything under control.(Steve has an asthma attack in the field and Sam comes to the rescue.)





	he ain't heavy

**Author's Note:**

> Please suspend your belief and let Steve have this asthma attack w/o explanation, thanks. Also I am physically incapable of writing sex scenes, apologies.

Sam took up the shield occasionally; the weight of it on his arm changed him. He felt like he stood taller, was stronger, faster and smarter. It made him feel like he could do anything. He’d seen Buck take up the shield. When he wasn’t using it in conjunction with his preferred method of wrecking havoc, his huge fuck-off rifle, he also stood taller and more solidly.

Steve, though, he made the shield, not the other way. Steve took up the shield and planted himself--practically rooted himself--and with every atom in his body, he reverberated **_no, you move._ **

Then he took a step forward and, smoothly, the coils of his body pushed him into a sprint. He threw every pound of muscle forward and flexed his arms to take the impact of the pile of Kevlar hurtling toward him. Certainty in every step.

Saccharine smiles and soft eyelashes gave way to fury and courage and every time, Sam felt like he might have just seen what that German doctor had. He wondered what it must have been like to look into the eyes of a man, barely more than a boy, and just know that he was the one. He’d done it of course, when he’d fallen for Steve, but Erskine was different. Erskine, like Mjölnir, must have been able to sense worthiness. Or maybe he’d taken a chance, a gamble, and prayed it was the right one.

But then seeing Steve, lip bloody and pulled back into a snarl, charge a team of Hydra to put himself between them and the few remaining civilians told Sam that Dr. Erskine wasn’t a gambling man.

Sam threw himself forward and seized the two civilians and dragged both out of the line of fire. He thrust them behind the remnants of the art installation in the courtyard. He heard them scramble the few yards to join the rescue team and the other civilians behind him and once he saw them touch the arms of the others, he pivoted back the way he came to intercept Steve’s body before he hit the ground.

For a moment, he thought he was too late. There was no Steve to be found, even after course-correcting himself to look for blonde hair, not a helmet. Putting a lucky fist into one guy’s face and getting a solid elbow into another, he spotted a twisting flash of red and white and heard a shout before a gloved hand grabbed his and damn near yanked his arm from its socket and dragged him into a run the opposite way he’d come. Despite the thickness of the gloves between both of their hands, he could feel the clenched tension in Steve’s palm and fingers.

He snapped out of his reverie when Steve jerked his head to the side and screamed “SHELL—COVER.”

If he had not been drowning in adrenaline, he might have corrected him, but there wasn’t exactly time to argue the semantics of explosive devices or laugh at Steve’s oh-so-endearing anachronism. Or even the not-so-endearing ones. What his body actually did was kick up the speed, snag an arm around Steve’s middle and throw both of them behind one of the decorative slabs of black marble at the end of the row of increasingly taller slabs. He dragged Steve into his chest and threw an arm over his exposed ear. He felt Steve wrap both his arms around his own head, pulling Sam even closer. In the second before the blast, he prayed that the rescue team had gotten the civilians somewhere fucking safe or at least had gotten them all flat and calm.

He was grateful for Steve’s arm over his ear when the blast hit; sediment rained down around them. He heard some screaming and his gut sank. Steve’s body was heaving with fast breaths next to him. The edge of the shield beneath them dug into their bodies, but neither moved. Sam counted to twenty before pulling out of Steve’s grip and kneeling to peer out from behind the slab. The screaming, he realized, had stopped. He couldn’t see anything besides the cracked remnants of black marble and an empty, severely scarred courtyard. He moved back behind their cover and realized that Steve was still curled up half in the curve of the shield. Just as horror flared bright through him, he heard shouting.

It was the rescue team barking orders to the civilians, herding them to safety away from the site. He looked again, adrenaline spiking as he tried to prioritize being furious that the rescue team moved without confirmation of safety, being prepared to leap out to prevent any straggling Hydra from following them, and being consumed by the burning desire to check Steve for injury.

He tapped the comm.

“I need a fucking visual on the courtyard. Are we all clear?” He snapped. He turned his attention to Steve. He pushed him over so he lay mostly flat on his back; he was unconscious. Sam tried to think whether he could have hit his head when they’d hit the ground. He felt along Steve’s skull. No blood, no lumps. He placed a hand on his chest and waited for the rise and fall. And waited.

In horror, he realized that something was wrong with Steve’s breathing. He was drawing air in, making a fucking terrible noise high in his throat and then barely letting it out before gasping again. ASTHMA-ASTHMA-ASTHMA blared in the back of his brain has he buried an arm between Steve’s back and the shield and levered him up. He maneuvered him so that his back was pressed against Sam’s chest, and pushed his chin high to open his airways.

“I need albuterol—a nebulizer—an inhaler—what the fuck ever--I need it NOW,” he shouted into the comm. He heard a faint “ _on it”_ and set himself to getting Steve’s arms above his head to release some of the pressure on his lungs. Between his high chin and his raised arms, Steve was able to take in a little more air and he seemed to be coming to a bit, which was great because Sam needed him to try to slow his breathing so he didn’t hyperventilate.

“Steve, are you with me?” He asked. Steve’s head lolled a little but he seemed to catch on pretty quick that Sam was talking to him. The half-second after opening his eyes, Steve appeared to realize he was mid-asthma attack and panicked. Sam shushed him.

“It’s okay. You’re having an asthma attack. It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be fine. I need you to try to slow down your breathing. Breathe with me, in. Out. In. Out.” He took exaggerated deep breaths against Steve’s back and Steve, like the force of nature he was, made an incredible effort. He pulled in air until his throat whistled softly and then released it with a wheeze.

“You’re okay, that’s great. You’re doing great,” Sam told him gently. Trying not to let urgency color his voice. “Keep going, keep breathing with me buddy. Good job. You’re going to be a-okay.” He pressed on his comm again. “Where the fuck is that albuterol?”

“Medic’s headed your way now, Wilson,” Barton’s voice sounded in his ear, “She’s got a rescue inhaler. She’s going as fast as she can.”

“Okay. Civilians—any injuries? Everyone alive? Keeping breathing, Steve, I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“Civilians are fine, minor injuries. You and Cap got everyone out before the bomb. We’re clearing the area now, no Nazi stragglers so far.”

“Okay, thanks. Keep me updated.”

“Will do.”

He looked up and saw a woman sprinting towards them in an orange reflective vest and gave a wave. She saw it and landed at his side in a moment, her arms already throwing her bag to the ground and digging through it. Sam held Steve steady and breathed with him until she had the inhaler in hand and instructed Steve how to breathe in the medication.

He followed through and after a few long seconds of wheezing, the noises died off and Steve’s breaths became deeper. He instinctively dropped his head towards his knees, but the medic prompted him to sit up again. Sam pressed a hand over Steve’s chest and tipped him back into his own. Steve tilted his head back against Sam’s shoulder and kept breathing until the wheezing stopped entirely. The medic sighed.

“He’s alright now,” she declared, holding the rescue inhaler out to Sam. He pocketed it.

“Thank you so much,” he told her, “We were touch-and-go there for a second.” She smiled and nodded and stood up.

“Stay with him, I’m going to flag down a car. He’ll need a check-up when we get back to base.”

“For sure,” Sam agreed. He looked back at Steve who looked like he could fall asleep any moment. “How you holding up, pal?”

“So tired,” Steve told him slowly, dragging out each word. “Throat hurts, wanna sleep.”

“I know buddy, but let’s not sleep until we get back to base.” Steve nodded lethargically and Sam knew he wasn’t going to manage it. He felt Steve’s head bob forward as he fought to stay awake. He sighed and shifted Steve around so that he could lay his cheek against Sam’s shoulder, which couldn’t have been very comfortable with all the armor, but Steve was undeterred. He passed right out.

The rescue van crunched up. A few guys got out to help him but he waved them off. He gently laid Steve down to stand up, then leaned back down to tuck one arm under his knees, the other around his shoulders and then heft him up. It strained his arms and his thighs, but he bore it. Steve woke for a second and had the wherewithal to wrap his arms around Sam’s neck before settling back to semi-consciousness. Sam bounced Steve a little higher up so that he was supporting most of his own weight and then stomped on the rim of the shield so it snapped up off the ground into his hand. The moment it hit his hand, he felt like he had everything under control.

He took both to the rescue van and climbed inside.

 

 

When he was fifteen, Steve had fallen a little in love with a kid called Archie Sanders a few blocks away. Archie was sweet and gentle, and he and Steve shared a kiss behind the local theatre which had pissed Buck off for days. He never did find out how Bucky had found out about it.

Then, he’d been a little starry eyed when, at twenty-two and having been caught mackin’ on Fred Katzynsky from church, Buck slammed the door to their apartment and threw his coat on the living room sofa and snarled, _Stevie, I ain’t mad you’re queer, I’m mad ‘cause you go ‘round with all these guys and you ain’t even give me the time of fuckin’ day. I been waiting here for seven goddamn years--_ And lo and behold, the Barnes and Rogers show went on the road.

Waking up at home in bed after nearly hyperventilating out in the field and realizing that Samuel Thomas Wilson had literally carried him home to safety inspired the same starry-eyed feeling. He rolled over and pressed his face into the warm spot between Sam’s shoulder blades. Sam grunted softly. His back smelled warm and clean, with the underlying scent that Steve could only identify as _Sam_.

Steve nuzzled the space gently, which was enough to insight a curious hum this time.

“Hey baby, what’s up?” Sam asked sleepily.

“Nothing,” he told the bones of Sam’s spine, “Just thinking about how incredible you are.”

 Sam snorted and rolled over, taking Steve’s hiding place with him. He flopped onto his other side and, once comfortable, ran his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“You’re pretty incredible too,” he said. Steve hummed and tucked his face against Sam’s breastbone instead.

“Not as amazing as you. Let me do something for you?” He asked. Sam raised an eyebrow, but continued to stroke those fingers through Steve’s hair.

“Save a guy’s life and get a blowjob from a national icon? You’re right, I am amazing.”

Steve smiled against his breastbone and placed a kiss there. He worked his way down his ribs. When he got to Sam’s hip he sunk his teeth into the skin just underneath the jut of the bone. Sam hissed and buried fingers in his hair, pulling just on this side of too tight.

Things escalated from there in the usual way.

Steve crawled back up once he was finished and Sam’s chest was heaving and placed one last kiss in the center of his breastbone. He laid his cheek against the same spot, careful to shift his weight so he wouldn’t suffocate Sam.

“One of these days, you’re gonna stop having to save me all the time,” he said lowly. Sam’s breathing slowed and he pet Steve’s hair.

“What would I do with myself if you didn’t need saving?” he countered. Steve leaned into the pets.

“I dunno; we could trade. I could save you for once.”

Sam laughed.

“What and give you that kind of leverage? Nah man. I’m happy where we’re at. You can save me from the toaster and that mangy stray you keep bringing home.”

“I can fucking _hear_ you morons,” Buck growled from the floor by the bed. “Also, you’re on thin ice, Wilson. Tryin’ to fucking steal my man.”

Steve laughed and leaned over the edge of the bed to see Buck sprawled out on the rug facing the window (his favorite spot), hair splayed all over the rug and the hardwood floor.

“It’s not stealing if I’m a willing participant,” he chided. Buck didn’t even bother turning over.

“Shut up, darlin’, I’m objectifying you.”

“That’s rude.”

“ _You’re_ rude.”

“Children,” Sam groaned, “Steve, I’m suddenly cold and in desperate need of a human blanket. One whose life I saved yesterday, preferably.”

“I take it all back,” Steve pouted.

“No, you don’t,” Sam countered.

“Yes, I do.”

“Oh my god.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, and your mangy mutt.”

“Fucking _rude_.”

 


End file.
